


Mist in our Minds

by DevilishSchokokeks



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: I hope I can do the trauma coping adequatly, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build, cooping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3647310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishSchokokeks/pseuds/DevilishSchokokeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the great battle of the Lonely Mountain, Bard has become king of Laketown and the city is growing stronger with each passing day. But he can not find the happiness he had hoped for, as a strange illness has befallen his children. In his desperation to find a cure he finally turns to the elven King of Mirkwood.</p><p>(Rating might go up later, but I'm not quite sure of weather Thranduil and Bard will have the smut with each other or nah)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mist in our Minds

**Author's Note:**

> As I was reading trough the Barduil tag I noticed that there were few fanfictions that sparked my interest (not that what I saw wasn't good, most of it just wasn't exactly as I wanted it to be) so I decided to write my own little thingy...allthough english is not my mother language and this is my first english fanfiction. But I let that shit be beta read (by LizOfTheLowlands ( http://archiveofourown.org/users/LizOfTheLowlands/profile )) and I think most of the mistakes I did - Which was for the most part fucking writing Capital letters literally everywhere - are gone, so I hope it is an enjoyable experience to read my work.

Bard of Laketown, King of Dale sat at one of the windows to his new home, staring over the ruins of a once great city with tired eyes. It was, he thought, as if the city would like to resemble his mind and the minds of his family - although at least for this city there was hope. The city was build anew, the destruction of the Dragon a base to created new soil for the future. His people were cultivating the fields with the help of the elves and rebuilding the city with the help of the dwarves. They were rich now, – after the battle the dwarves had divided their gold and left them a fair share and more -  they had lived through their first winter in the new city with only a few losses. Everything should be well. And yet he was sitting in this cold and empty house, too big for him and his family alone and could not find the happiness he felt they all deserved. And how could he as a father find joy in this new town if his children were ill. And how could he find joy if neither he nor any physician he asked knew how to cure the illness that had befallen them.

Of all his children, Bain was the one who was most severely befallen by this strange illness. He did not sleep well after the last battle, but no one did so soon after it, so Bard had not paid it more attention than he would have paid any other nightmares of his children. But soon there was more to notice. Bain, as well as Tilda started to wet their beds at night, and soon after he noticed how a quiet melancholy had first taken on Bain, then Tilda and even Sigrid, ever strong Sigrid had fallen into unknown depths of quiet sadness. But she, at last had left it. Her sleep was still uneven, but she had grown out of her melancholy over the winter. Bard knew she did it so as not to trouble him and he suspected it had taken her greater strength than he could imagine. But Bain and Tilda had not found this strength in them. Over time, Bain had fallen even deeper into this illness and ceased to speak aside from the screams and mumbled pleas he uttered in his sleep and Tilda...she hadn't grown. As much as she ate, she had become thin and pale and hadn't grown an inch during the winter. It worried him greatly. And to be quite honest he did not know what to do anymore. He had been to the healer in his town, even sent for others now that the spring had come into his land. But all was for naught. He could not find a cure for his family and over time had also fallen into a melancholy of his own.

"Father." it sounded behind him. Sigrid was standing in the door frame to his room as he turned. She too was looking pale and worried. Too worried for her age. Bard wanted to wrap her into his cloak and protect her from all bad that had happened. But what had been done, had been done. What was lost could never come back. It was too late, and he knew. "Yes Sigrid?" He asked instead and tried to muster a smile that was returned in just the same tired and hopeless way. "There is a new shipment of seeds from King Thranduil. He is of great help to us, and I thought it would be fitting to thank him in some way." She informed him and Bard nodded slowly "Yes...you're right of course." He said, a bit bitter. He would have liked to do so. To thank the elven king whom, for some strange reason was kind to his people. But they had nothing to spare, nothing to give. "And a group of travellers has settled in front of the City. They asked if they might be allowed to entertain us for a few days." she added and Bard looked up. "Travellers?" He asked and Sigrid smiled a shy smile "Yes. Travelling artists. You know...musicians. Firedancers. Uhm...Storytellers."

Bard smiled at last. Storytellers. He remembered when Sigrid was small and her mother still alive. Travelling folk had passed the City almost each spring and she had loved to go there and watch them perform. And most of all, she had loved the storytellers. "Yes. Of course. I shall greet them." he answered and got up, following his oldest daughter out of the room.  She looked a little bit happier now, and that was more than what Bard could hope for. "Where are Bain and Tilda? Maybe they should greet our guests too." He asked and immediately regretted it. Quiet worry and pain flickered over the face of his child. "They are at the river. Maybe they'll come join us at the gate. They surely have noticed the people." she told him. Bard doubted it. His youngest children spent a lot of time at the river now, but not playing. Instead they quietly sat there, sometimes so absent that Bard feared spirits of the waters had bewitched their minds. "Yes." he answered though he had no hope "maybe."

They arrived at the front gate some time later, the way behind them taken in silence.

The leader of the travelling tribe was a tall, brown skinned man with flaming red hair and a smile that shone of golden teeth. He bowed down so deep that it could be nothing but mockery. It almost made Bard smile, despite his younger children being nowhere in sight "King of Dale!" The man said, voice loud and boisterous

"It is an honour to be greeted by you and your beautiful daughter. My name, your highness, is Feodor, and I came to ask if you might let us camp in front of your town for a few days, so we may entertain your family and all the people of Dale!" Feodor had a strange accent, but he seemed friendly and full of energy. The offer sounded like something that Dale’s people could only benefit from after this long, hard winter and the horrible things that laid behind them. Tilting his head in approval, Bard answered "It would be a great pleasure to me and my city to welcome your people for a few days. We surely could use something to ease our minds." Feodor bowed again, and then, in some language the king did not understand, shouted something to his people who in return cheered and jumped down from their carriages to build up their temporary settlement. Bard let his gaze wander over them. Maybe it would help his children too. Maybe they could forget their pain for a bit. He decided that he would take them to this little festival for the evening. It would be nice, just the four of them, having some fun. At least he could hope so. Turning to Sigrid he asked her quietly if she would fetch her siblings for him. Quickly agreeing, she slipped away and made her way down to the river.

Bard watched her go and for a moment he asked himself if he would even be able to manage a thing without her help. The question was laughable and the answer simple. No, he wouldn't have, he would have never made it without her ever since his wife died.

He just wished he could give her back something for that. But it never seemed enough.

With a sigh he bid Feodor goodbye and made his way back into the town, back into his house. Tonight, perhaps, he would have some enjoyment that would lighten everyone's mood.

 


End file.
